


These Hallowed Bones

by Not_So_Secretly_a_Spaceship



Series: A Pile Of Bones [6]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Baze is very long suffering, Bodhi is a precious cinnamon roll, Cassian is a terrible patient, Chirrut and Baze are totes married, Chirrut is a Troll, Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies, F/F, F/M, Gen, Linta is everyone's mum, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Professionals, Not for the faint of heart, Post Rogue One, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unicorn enabled again, damnit Mon I'm a veterinarian not a field medic, fixit, graphic descriptions of medical procedures, happy ending I promise, hoth is a frozen wasteland and everyone hates it, inappropriate therapy animals, medical glossaries, medical gore, severe anxiety, slowburn Cassian/Jyn, so much swearing, tauntauns really smell, there's gonna be angst before bedtime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9808733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_So_Secretly_a_Spaceship/pseuds/Not_So_Secretly_a_Spaceship
Summary: Bones still hasn't released any of them.  Is hesitant to do so in light of the camaraderie.  How the shadows around their eyes disappear almost as soon as they appear.  How someone – usually Chirrut – acts up.How they all smile, despite the missing limbs, organs, mobility.She doesn't want to release them into the wilds of Home One, but she can't continue to justify the occupied beds.  The galaxy waits for no one.  Not even heroes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the DIRECT SEQUEL to [A Pile Of Bones](archiveofourown.org/works/9145375/chapters/20777401) (if you haven't read it, you probably won't get this). This is now a series called [A Pile Of Bones](http://archiveofourown.org/series/647381) which includes Bones canonical works from the phenomenal [Wolf_Storm](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_Storm/pseuds/Wolf_Storm). For the full experience, it's recommended you read ALL of the earlier stuff before starting on this one.
> 
> How else are you going to be weirdly grossed out by Davits getting laid? (NOT EVEN SORRY)

Jyn's foot touches down on the durasteel flooring outside the med room for the first time in what seems like an eternity. Her other pantsleg has only been rolled and tacked up, and it sometimes flicks against the inside of her whole leg.

It's a constant reminder.

She shudders and looks around. There are a few ensigns standing at parade rest off to one side of the doorway, young and fresh faced and so enthusiastic. She's quite sure she never looked like that. She wonders if Cassian ever did. She cannot imagine it, somehow.

“Lieutenant Erso, if you would follow me, please,” one of the ensigns says after a quick salute. She ignores him for the moment, waiting. Bodhi slinks out of the med room. She watches as his shoulders inch up towards his ears. His fingers clutch at his datapad.

Chirrut and Baze are the last to exit. They move within each others' personal space, a pattern born of years of intimacy. “I'm sure we'll see each other around,” Chirrut says. Baze rolls his eyes. Even Bodhi cracks a smile at that.

“Yeah,” Jyn says. She squares her shoulders. “Okay, let's go.” The ensign gestures and begins to walk. She swings her crutches after him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay time for there to be a nice big gap in updates while I devour Rogue One, cry, cry some more, and then work my way into Cassian Andor's brain.
> 
> HI HO ANGST, AWAY!

He's shown to his new quarters. They're nice quarters, as quarters go. Much nicer than the pilot barracks under the Empire. Or the seedy bunk rooms, with stashes of spice and whores on call. He preferred the pilot barracks. At least they encouraged pilots to go _elsewhere_ for their entertainment. Many a night has he spent trying to block his ears to the moans and creaks going on below, or above. Many a night has he simply left to sleep on his ship, after the other pilot has taken spice and turned … unpleasant.

These quarters are small, but clean. There is a bed. A desk. A lamp. The room smells clean and the bedding is free of stains. There is even a small cupboard. He opens it. It already has clothing in it.

“If you have any questions, I am at your disposal. Comm me any time if I can assist with anything,” the ensign says, knocks out a salute, and closes the door behind him.

Closes him into the room. It's small, Bodhi notes. Very small. Smaller than the cargo hold, that little patch of durasteel where the grenade landed. The smell of burnt flesh clogs his throat. He stares at his hands. _They're not burning, they're not burning, they're not burning_. Vibrant pink is a jarring contrast to his tanned skin, still so delicate it reddens and swells if he holds the datapad wrong. Yet he can still feel the heat, the burning, the ache, the awful _wrongness_ of being burnt alive, down his arms, up his legs, across his face.

He sits on the bed. _They're not burning, they're not burning, they're not burning_. He stares at his hands. They are pink and delicate. He is not allowed to handle any tools without heavy gloves, and then he must be careful the interior doesn't rub his flesh raw.

 _They're not burning, they're not burning, they're not burning_. He brings his knees to his chest and presses his face onto them.

 _He's not burning, he's not burning, he's not burning_.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised today, with a horrible sense of certainty, that this chapter is not going to get any longer. I'm not happy with it, but it needs to be here. I may come back and change it. I just don't wike it.
> 
> I got my timetable for uni! 8.00am-5.00pm ERRY DAY with 1, sometimes 2 hour lunch breaks and no breaks in the morning or the afternoon. WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE! (think of the animals, think of the animals, think of the animals)

Cassian lets out a heaving sigh as his back touches the mattress. He eases himself down. For the first time in a long time, Cassian Andor is at rest. He's never been good with it, the patient wait for healing. The quiet. The time to think.

He can see the _burn_ in Jyn's eyes on the backs of his eyelids. He flicks up the datapad. It does no good to dwell on what was. The feel of her hand in his.

The feel of her. Her arm around him on that forsaken spit of beach. The ferocity with which she does everything, the strength in her bones.

He blinks and focusses his eyes back on the datapad.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because last chapter was tiny and pants, have a fun interlude :) this interlude immediately precedes [Light a fire they can't put out](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9566372/chapters/21631655) and is set 17-18 years before the Battle of Yavin / Rogue One.
> 
> If you haven't already read "Light a fire they can't put out", go read it now. I want to see how many more people I can wigg out by Davits getting laid.

The third time Davits Draven meets Bones, she is a field medic assigned to his company. For once, he's actually relieved to see her.

He's holding his guts in his hands.

She takes one look at him, throws her medbag over her back, bends down, puts her arm under his knees, and _lifts him_. “Keep your fucking guts in line, if I trip up over them, I'll kill you myself by _strangling you with them_ ,” she growls as she starts trotting along.

“Okay,” he mumbles, and lets himself be carried.

She's breathing heavily by the time she dumps him, unceremoniously, on a pallet near the back lines where the injured are being given emergency care. “Good fucking job you didn't bring half the fucking forest back in your peritoneal cavity,” she huffs. She drops her bag to the ground, rips it open, and grabs her hypospray. Jabs it into his neck. He yelps.

“ _Kriff_ you haven't gotten any nicer with those, have you!” She bares her teeth at him.

“Keeps you fuckers awake, dunnit?” she retorts. Grabs some gloves and snaps them on. With more care than she's ever shown him, she moves his hands away from his intestines and places them at his side. He looks straight up at the sky, little peaks of blue between the tops of trees. He can feel tugging in his abdomen, _in_ his abdomen, and it feels wrong and disturbing and he tries very hard not to think about what she might be doing. He doesn't look down. “Talk to me, Davits,” she says.

“That's _Commander Draven_ to you,” he grinds out.

“I'm elbows deep in your fucking guts, you're _Davits_ ,” she snaps back, and he makes the mistake of looking down. She is, in fact, elbow deep in sickly grey tubes and globular meshing.

“How the hell did you come to be here?” he asks.

“Punched too many shitcunt doctors. Mon's got me as a fucking field medic until they can figure out what the fuck to do with me,” she explains. He watches, fascinated, as she slides her hands along his intestines, turning them this way and that, before stuffing them back into the gaping hole in his abdomen.

“Couldn't you have not punched them?” he says.

“Fuck, probably, but then more patients would have fucking died. I'd rather a few broken noses and butthurt fuckknuckles than more dead.”

“I'll take that answer,” Davits says.

“Now I want you to lie back and think of the Resistance,” Bones says. Davits blinks at her. “Lie the fuck down and don't fucking move, I can't spare the anaesthetic to fix up such a pathetically tiny abdominal laceration.” This time Davits glares at her, but lies back and stares at the skies above.

He _really_ doesn't want to think about what the tugging means this time. “So ...” Davits says.

“Fuck up. I'm fixing you, not here to be chatted up,” Bones cuts him off. Davits splutters.

“I was trying to be _polite_ ,” Davits replies. He keeps his eyes skyward.

“Why the _fuck_ are you trying to be _polite_?” she asks.

“Because I like the people manhandling my intestines to _like me_ ,” Davits replies. That gets a barked laugh from her.

“I like you well enough,” she says. There's a pause while Davits has a moment of _oh good_ before she continues, “when you're unconscious.” He frowns at the skittering clouds.

“Why on earth are you a doctor if you don't like people?” he asks.

“I'm not,” she replies. “I'm a _vet_.”

“Please tell me you know what you're doing,” Davits whimpers.

“Of fucking course I do, I'm a _vet_ ,” she says, as if that explains everything. It probably does, but not to him. “I don't see you fucking complaining about still being alive, so fuck up.”

“Then why, if you are a vet, are you operating on people?”

There's a length of silence. The tugging in his abdomen continues. He doesn't look down. “ _Fucking_ Imperials,” she eventually sighs. 

“Fucking Imperials,” he agrees. The tugging stops. He looks down and grimaces. A neat line of stitches sprawls across his abdomen. She squeezes bacta gel from a tube across the wound, rips off her gloves, and slaps on a bandage. 

“You're not moving for the next two days, then no heavy lifting for a month. You move, I will either beat you over the head or tie you down. You don't want me to do either of those,” Bones says. 

Davits has always considered himself a relatively intelligent man. Brutally pragmatic to the point of bull-headedness, but intelligent. He looks at Bones. He very pointedly lies his head back and stares up at the scrambling clouds. 

“Yes marm,” he says. She grunts in response and shuffles off to her next victim. Patient. 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is a bit messy and stressful at the moment (it always is this time of year), so the next update may be a few months in the coming. If you want to chat, follow, check that I'm alive, or otherwise see way too many pictures of Riz Ahmed, I'm on Tumblr @dogtorbones
> 
> Also, yes, 'spake' is a word. I just really wanted to use it there.

Baze has impeccable timekeeping. He can usually state, with almost-to-the-minute accuracy, how long a thing is taking, how long they have been there, how long Chirrut has been in the bath, that kind of thing.

Here, in this cavern of durasteel and antiseptic, he is at a loss. He knows it's been days, but he could not say with any confidence how many. Instead, he stares at Chirrut's face, lax with sleep, and thumbs the staff.

This isn't the first time they've gone into a bad fight, or come out of one. Nor is it the first time they've gone into a fight Baze thought they wouldn't come back from.

This _is_ the first time they've gone into a fight Chirrut knew they wouldn't.

He hadn't connected the dots, the quiet murmurings and apologies spilled out in the dark of the night when Chirrut thought he was asleep. He hadn't linked in his insistence that they _be at that exact spot_ at _that exact time_ and then intervene.

Their last night before it all, the whispered “soon” into the skin of his neck before he fell asleep.

He hadn't connected any of it until Chirrut had stepped out into the firefight and walked, slow and purposeful, towards the master switch. He hadn't realised the implications until he was screaming at him to come back, hurry, just come back, your task is done, just come back to me.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asks, later, when they have been released to 'their' quarters. There is silence for some time.

“Because I know you,” Chirrut replies. “You would not let me, even though we must.”

Once upon a time Baze would have understood, would have felt the ebb and flow of the Force just as Chirrut had. Would likely have come to the same conclusion. But his faith did not return to him when he had, stepping once more on the broken grounds of Jedha. The Force spake to him no more.

Baze sits down on the double cot. “What did you see?” he asks. He does not look up at Chirrut.

“We did not go, and our little sister died on the beach before she could transmit the plans. The Alliance fell, and darkness crept over everything.” Chirrut puts his staff to one side. Moves forwards until he stands between Baze's legs. Rests his hands on either side of his face. Tilts his head up with gentle fingers. “I saw that we did go, and I saw you die as I did.” Chirrut plants a chaste kiss on Baze's lips. “Do not think it was an easy choice.”

Baze wraps his arms around Chirrut's waist and presses his face into his stomach. He cannot step the heavy feeling in his chest, the voice in the back of his head howling _he said nothing, he took that choice away from you_. His fingers tighten in unfamiliar fabric and Baze _desperately_ needs the familiar.

Chirrut gives a pleased hum as his shirt is rucked up and Baze runs his hands along the skin there, fingers brushing over fresh scars and old alike. He trails his fingers with his lips. Pushes the shirt higher, until Chirrut makes a displeased noise and pulls it off himself.

Nothing is quite right. The sounds are hollow and clanging. The scents are stiff and artificial. The fabrics are hard and soft in peculiar mixes, catch on the edges of skin and scar.

Chirrut pulls his top off and pushes him back onto the bed. It is overly firm, and the sheets are thin. Baze grabs Chirrut and pushes him face first into the mattress, fumbling with their pants and scrabbling for the small tube of lube he had uplifted from the medbay earlier.

It's only when he's seated deep in Chirrut, his nose pressed against the back of his neck and ears full of his breathy moans that things click back into place, and it all feels _right_ again.

They lie, legs tangled in each other, blanket drawn up to their chests. Baze watches him. Chirrut smiles at the ceiling.

“Don't do something like that again,” Baze says, and rests his forehead against Chirrut's ear.

“I am sorry,” Chirrut says.

It's hours later, when Baze is on the cusp of slumber, when he feels lips press against his temple. “I am one with you, and you are with me.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for your patience! It has been rewarded with the completion of this constipated chapter of constipatedness. I'm not kidding I've had most of this chapter written for about a month but the last bit just ... wouldn't ... get out.
> 
> Huge thanks to NotSoSecretlyAUnicorn for the bit about cake and candy to get the chapter moving again. 
> 
> I'm now going to re-disappear for um ... some time. I've got two assignments and an exam due in three weeks! YAY PATHOLOGY! NECROSIS! GANGRENE! CLOSTRIDIUM! YUCKY!

It's late in the evening by the time Dart gets … well … nearly off-shift. He's been tasked with doing the rounds of their newly discharged patients before he's free – and tomorrow is his rest day, too! He's looking forward to a sleep in. He'll probably get it, too, even if he does bunk with another nineteen nurses in one of the smaller medical bunk rooms on Home Base.

He learned very early on in his nursing career how to nap anywhere and everywhere, and how to sleep with noise going on. Now he could probably sleep through a rampaging nerf herd going past.

He makes a beeline for his favourite patient's quarters. Bodhi is … special. Even Bones gives him deferential treatment, and in all his years nursing with her (admittedly, that's only about three years of his five years total nursing) he has never seen her be even _vaguely_ kind towards a patient. Well, that's a lie. Everything she does for a patient is kindness, but _showing_ kindness and _doing_ things that are kind are two very different things. One can do things that are kind without showing kindness.

He's pretty sure that's Bones' policy in life. Do kind things but with great fury. Or pain. Or something like that.

He gets to Bodhi's door. Knocks. “Hey, Bodhi, it's Dart from med, just stopping by to see how you're doing!” he calls through the durasteel door. He waits a moment. Knocks again. “Bodhi?” he calls. Knocks again. Whips out his comm. “Bones,” he says.

“What,” comes the reply.

“I need your medical override for Lieutenant quarters,” Dart says. He breathes a silent sigh of relief when she gives it to him, no questions asked. He punches it in and the door opens.

Bodhi sits, heels tucked into his buttocks, face pressed to his knees, arms hugging his legs tight to his chest. He's mumbling something. Dart scans the room even as he steps into it and towards the man.

“Hey, Bodhi,” Dart says, crouching down to try to get a glimpse of his face. The delicate skin on his hands and arms are red. He's been wringing them, or rubbing them against the rough fabric of his pants. “Bodhi, it's me, Dart,” he says. There's no response.

He pulls out his comm. “Bodhi's catatonic, I need a grav gurney and dipill, I want to say six mills per kilo.”

“ _Fuck_ on my way,” Bones replies.

Dart angles his body away from Bodhi and approaches the bed slowly. He may be unaware of his surroundings, and he doesn't want to jar him. “Hey buddy, Bones is on her way and we'll get you back to the med bay. I should have thought to ask the ensign to stay and make sure everything was okay before leaving you be here, that's my omission, and I'm sorry for that,” Dart continues. “But that's okay, we'll get you back to the med bay and give you just a bit of sedation and that'll help you feel a bit better and you'll probably get some of Linta's candy as well.”

The door hisses open and Bones moves past him, squatting down in front of Bodhi. Her eyes scan him. Her jaw ticks.

“Bodhi,” Bones says. “I'm going to touch your arm, okay?” He gives no indication of having heard. She touches his arm anyway, uses that point of contact to slide up to his shoulder and then to his neck. “I'm going to give you a mild sedative now,” she says. Leaves her hand on his neck and gently presses the hypospray into the skin above her fingers. Depresses the button. It hisses quietly. Bodhi doesn't move. She crams the hypospray back into her pocket and runs her hand back down his arm to one of his hands. “You're the pilot, Bodhi, you're the pilot,” she says. His fingers twitch. Clench around his arms then relax. She quickly grasps both of his hands and pulls them away from his arms. They tighten around her fingers. “It's okay, you're the pilot. I've got you.”

His head lifts up from his knees and his eyes are wide, eyelids peeled back and mouth moving. They can hear his mantra now. “ _I'm not burning, I'm not burning._ ” Bones' face twists and Dart isn't entirely sure what to make of this new expression.

“You're not burning, Bodhi. I'm not burning. Dart's not burning. There's nothing here to burn you,” Bones says carefully. “You're the pilot.”

His eyes come alive and affix on her face. “I'm the _pilot_ ,” he says, fiercely, as a reminder. “I'm _the pilot_.”

“Yeah, Bodhi, you're the pilot, and I think we should get you on the grav gurney before the dipill makes your legs go funny,” Bones says, standing up as Bodhi uncurls. His hands stay clenched around hers.

“Okay,” he says. He lowers his legs to the ground, one at a time, and pulls himself to his feet.

“Fuck,” Bones says with great feeling as he sprawls over her shoulder. Dart steps in but she shakes her head at him. “Bodhi, I'm going to need you to let go of my hands so I can help you stand up.”

He makes a contemplative noise in the back of his throat. “A hand,” he says, and releases one. “I can fly _anything_ ,” he says. Grins. Bones hoists him so that she has one arm (with his hand still firmly clasping hers) over her shoulders and her free arm looped around his waist.

“I'm sure you can, Bodhi, but you know what would be really impressive right now?” Bones asks, hauling him further over her shoulder as his knees fail to hold his weight.

“What's that?” he asks, tipping his head down to blink at her.

“Walking out that door. Do you think you can do that?” Bones says.

“I can do that. I can fly _anything_.”

“Even yourself,” Bones comments.

“Even meself,” Bodhi agrees. The lip of the door gives him a bit of difficulty, so Bones lifts him over it and guides him around to sit on the grav gurney. He sits and looks at her. They're at eye level like this. “I'm the pilot,” he says with great aplomb. He doesn't let go of her hand.

“You're the pilot,” Bones agrees.

“I wanted to be a fighter pilot,” Bodhi says. Dart starts pushing the grav gurney. Bodhi sways with the new movement. Bones keeps pace with him. “Do you think I could be a fighter pilot here?” he asks. He turns his loth-cat eyes on Dart, who just about melts.

“I did promise you time in one of our good flight sims,” Bones says. “You're skilled enough to pilot a shuttle out of a warzone and back to base with severely burnt hands, an X-wing will be a piece of cake.”

“...not candy?” Bodhi pouts.

“Cake, candy, whatever you like, you're the pilot.”

“I'm the pilot,” Bodhi agrees. The door to the medbay swings open. They manoeuvre the gurney over into the corner, to the bed Bodhi has only recently left.

“We're going to get up and onto this bed now,” Bones says, twisting under his arm and using her captured hand to pull him onto her shoulder. Bodhi lets out a quiet 'wooo!' of excitement as he's deposited on his old bed. “Now, I'm going to need my hand back.”

Bodhi's jaw sets.

“Have you ever made a pillow fort?” Dart quickly says. Bodhi's head swings around to look at him with wide eyes.

“No?” he says.

“Oh!” Dart grins. “See, Bones here is quite an expert at pillow forts, but it's an activity that needs _both_ hands. I'm sure if you ask nicely she'll show you how to make them.” The look Dart receives is a terrifying promise.

“Really?” Bodhi's head swivels back to look at Bones. “Would you show me?”

Bones takes a deep breath. “Sure, buddy, I'll show you how to make a pillow fort.” He releases her hand and they get to work.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Become a vet, they said. It'll be fun, they said. (Fondling ram testicles during a cyclone is not what I'd consider fun.)
> 
> Fortunately we were under cover, but the rams were soaked. I still have to wash my wet weathers. I think I need to hose them down first. They've still got ram shit on them.
> 
> BUT I'M ALIVE! I'm probably going to disappear into another hole for a few months. Second half of semester is where everything is due (assignments, exams, getting up to speed with what the shit is going on...) but if I'm really lucky I'll actually be able to have the three week winter holidays off. 
> 
> If you want to see lots of random (usually) Rogue One shite, as well as various hot men (and occasionally women) (#daily delicious), hit me up on [tumblr](http://dogtorbones.tumblr.com/)! Feel free to tag me in shit, publicly ask me questions, or flick me a pm. Just be aware I'm rarely coherent, always enthusiastic, and capslock IS cruise control for cool. Also if you ask me questions you may get live stream of consciousness which can bounce around a bit.

Bodhi sleeps beneath the pillows and blankets of the fort. Bones had dragged two bed mattresses to the floor before beginning their fort - “I'm too old to be kneeling on the hard floor under here” - in the hopes that Bodhi would find the softly enclosed area comforting.

He did. As Bones pulled the last sheet over their carefully constructed fort, he'd stretched out on his stomach and peered out. When she next checked, his eyes were shut and his breathing slow and steady.

So now she sits at her desk, datapad in hand. The quiet of a ship in night phase is soothing. Not as soothing as the quiet of a ground base in night phase, but moreso than _either_ during the day. Dart is gone. Fled, would be the more accurate term, after telling Bodhi she made a good pillow fort (it may have had something to do with the glare and the fact that she had mouthed 'I know where you sleep').

A message pops up. Bones flicks through it and grins. Sends a quick reply and fires a message off to Davits.

The Monas brothers are on the Redemption.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weather outside is gorgeous and glorious and I'm inside studying / writing my assignment. And the day I hand my assignment in is the day the weather turns to KAKA!
> 
> I should also really get out of my onesie, unrug the horses for this glorious weather, and go to my mate's place so we can work on our assignment. Instead of SQUIRREL writing fanfiction.

She watches, a child on the edge of a plantation, as her mother dies. She blinks and a hatch opens and a corpse gestures her to follow. She blinks and a door closes, a blaster tight in her hands. She blinks and it's her cellmate, telling her in a very matter of fact way that it is going to kill her. She steps back and something crunches soft under her foot. She blinks and looks down.

Her foot has broken through sternum and rib and nestles between twin deflated lungs. She looks up into the dead face of her papa. Eyes whitened over, mouth slack.

“No.” It's her voice, but not from her lips, and her legs threaten to collapse but she locks her knees (both legs and they just can't bear her weight).

His mouth opens. Unhinges into a gaping maw and four terrible green points of energy meet in the middle of it.

She screams herself awake before the single beam reaches her forehead.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before I disappeared into thin air, and figured I'd put it up and then disappear again until early July :D 
> 
> Sorry I haven't replied to any reviews (and I won't until I'm back and cranking), KNOW I READ THEM IN THE WEE HOURS AFTER STUDYING AND KNOW THAT I DO HAPPY DANCES <3
> 
> All things are going well here! Other than me procrastinating far too much and studying far too little :D stay warm, stay safe, and I'll catch you all on the holiday side ;)

It's late (or early) when there's a knock on his door. It's quiet. Almost tentative. “Coming,” he grunts. It takes Cassian longer than usual to sit up. His cot is shaped differently to the ward beds, and he has to lever himself up more with his arms. He swings his legs over the side of the bed. Grabs his wheelchair, lines it up and locks it. He grinds his teeth as he lurches into the seat. He wheels the metre or so to the door. Hits the 'open' panel.

Jyn stands there. Her hands are white-knuckled over her crutch grips. Her chin juts out and her eyes just _dare_ him to speak.

He moves his chair back to let her in. Her jaw begins to unclench as she swings in on her crutches. She sits on his bed. Rests her crutches against the wall. Her eyes are still guarded, shoulders up by her ears.

Cassian stares at her. She doesn't quite meet his gaze. His throat works, he thinks, but nothing comes out. Her fingers clench in the sheets of his bed.

“This was a stupid idea,” she mumbles, and rocks her weight forward.

“No, please,” Cassian says. “It's -” his voice fails him again, but only for a moment, “- big enough for two.”

Her weight goes back. Her fingers don't unclench from his sheets. Cassian rolls himself towards the bed and slowly pulls himself out of his chair until he is sitting beside Jyn. Their fingers nearly touch. He moves himself further back onto the bed, then swings his legs on and pulls himself up to the head of the bed. His arm presses against the wall. He lies his head back on the pillow and stares pointedly at the ceiling.

The silence is brittle. The rustle of cloth breaks it and the pillow beside him dips. Cassian turns off the light. They lie there, shoulder to shoulder.

“I couldn't sleep,” Jyn admits to the dark.

“I close my eyes and see it,” Cassian says. She understands. They both stood on that beach and stared down the oncoming storm. As endings went, it would have been a beautiful one. Her shoulder presses into his. Not enough to put pressure on his spine, but enough to say what she will not. Cannot. In another life, he might have smiled at the gesture. Something in his chest loosens anyway, just a little.

They don't speak again, and in the morning, Cassian is surprised to feel his fingers twined with hers.

 


End file.
